We had an early evening flight and the last day blues. Stanley Restaurant (on Jackson Square) was highly recommended for breakfast, especially the gumbo, but the wait was twenty minutes. After some casting about, we went back to La Divina Gelateria for some excellent coffee, an egg panini, and a one-egg omelet with goat cheese and sun dried tomatoes, followed by chocolate gelato for dessert. Eating outside in a quiet alley, away from the bustle, we revived enough to talk about lunch.
After hustling to check out and check bags, we ambled back along the river and made for the Cabildo to see where the Louisiana Purchase was signed. We were quickly defeated by the air-conditioning but would definitely return. Instead of lunch, we went to Tujauges for Pimm’s and a Turbodog plus tequila. While I got in line for a muffuletta at Central Grocery (plane snacks), The Skipper located a bar. I found him happily ensconced in a window seat at Molly’s with a drink and The New York Times, and we settled in for a pleasant afternoon. Too pleasant, in fact. A friend found us, and we all stayed out longer than we should have. With no taxis in sight and Decatur Street a parking lot, we opted for a street car to our hotel – an exercise in frustration if you’re actually in a hurry. But it all worked out.
It was a rich experience to break out the muffuletta at 30,000 feet and waft the smell of olive spread around the airplane cabin. It was also somewhat like birthing a calf. When I reached into the bag, my arm came back covered in oil. We finished the muffuletta for breakfast the next day while listening to our new Coco Robicheaux and Champion Jack Dupree CD’s. There wasn’t room for boudin in my suitcase, which means Ginger and The Skipper will be coming back to New Orleans. Soon.